


ghost

by demios



Category: Alice Mare, Cloé's Requiem
Genre: Cloé's Requiem Spoilers, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demios/pseuds/demios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pierre, Michel, and an unlikely guest. Takes place after the True End of Cloe's Reqiuem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghost

Pierre was never religious.

His father had always told him that God didn’t exist; after all, if He was so kind why were they living in such a shithole? Even when Michel had picked up violin and he piano, their father had said it was ‘his hard work and effort’ that had landed them a comfortable life. Pierre watched him take another swig of expensive wine that dribbled down his chin. _Go to bed_ ,  _you need to practice tomorrow. Unless you like living on the streets_ , came the quiet slurred mutter.

He passed out on the couch that night, staining his new dress shirt bright red when Pierre walked into the living room the next morning. Thinking back now, that same shade of red bloomed on the same dress shirt, when Pierre found him in the kitchen with a knife in his side. It was sick, but it was ironic, he supposed.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him, but he found himself in the church, standing in front of a man who had supposed touched countless lives. but never his. He swallowed.

“What brings you here today, my child?” The priest said nothing of Pierre’s identity. The news had already spread across town. He knew the priest knew who he was, and he knew the priest knew that as well. Pierre looked at his face, those eyes filled with pity. It was demeaning to be looked at like that, like some poor wretch. Like his _father_.

“Father,” That was what the churchgoers called him, was it not? The word felt foreign on his tongue when it was not used to address the smell of alcohol and violent swearing. “Will…will my brother be alright?” His voice sounded faint as it trembled, and he hated it.

The priest’s eyes softened as he placed a bony wrinkled hand on his shoulder. he gave a gentle smile. “Of course he will. if you have faith in Him he’ll surely return home safe and sound."

Pierre forced a small smile in return "Thank you, Father,"

He could always tell when adults were lying.

-

"You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” The quiet voice asked.

Michel said nothing. the sun was setting as he stood in front of Cloe’s grave. the man walked beside him and gave a gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

"I suppose you have nowhere to go now…“ Michel shook his head. his intent had been to go back to town, back to Pierre, but with what he’s done.. he may have broken the curse placed upon him, but he’d be unable to resume his former life. He was a monster now. And he didn’t want Pierre to live with that.

The man’s long legs crouched down so that he was at eye level with Michel. He was disheveled and sleepless, dark hair gathered in a hastily-made ponytail. Michel finally turned to meet his gaze, watery blue eyes tired and red from crying. a slight smile formed on the man’s face, but it carried a hint of sadness. Almost like the man knew what it was like.

"You can come with me if you’d like.” A pale hand extended towards him. “I can give you a roof over your head and a warm bed… though, I’ll try to give you other things as well. I’m sure the others would like to have another friend."

He stared warily at the hand, eyes not leaving the slender fingers. Would they also possess a bottle of wine, or a belt? The mans eyes looked gentle and faraway; Michel doubted he had the ability to even yell with how much he seemed to have faded already. He felt the same. He was tired of what the world had given him.

He slowly wrapped his smaller hand around the man’s.

He supposed it was fitting, a ghost being taken in by another ghost.


End file.
